


Choke

by nyromes



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, Dominant Enjolras, Emetophilia, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Submissive Grantaire, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyromes/pseuds/nyromes
Summary: It’s kind of gross, really, the taste of bile on his lover's lips, but it’s not as bad as he expected.He runs his hand through Grantaire’s hair and pulls away, giving his sub a brilliant, proud smile. This isn’t his kink as much as it’s Grantaire’s, but he can definitely deal with it if it means he gets to see Grantaire like this again.Plotless emetophilia smut. I'm so sorry. Please look at the tags before reading.





	Choke

“Look up,” Enjolras says, and the sound of the cane clattering to the floor has Grantaire snap out of his haze.

He’s on his knees, at the head of the bed, his shoulders pressed against the wall behind the headboard for some sort of support. His wrists are tied above his head and cuffed to a snap-hook dangling from the ceiling. The rope on the hook leaves him just enough room to oblige.

He sits back on his heels, and Enjolras unlocks the cuffs, taking a moment to massage the marks on the sub’s wrists. Then he ties them again, behind his back, and Grantaire turns around as soon as Enjolras tugs on his shoulder.

Enjolras smiles. “You’re doing good today,” he comments. “A bit eager.”

Grantaire nods excitedly, his eyes fixed on Enjolras. “Wanna be good for you, Sir.”

Enjolras chuckles and guides Grantaire closer to the edge of the bed, moving toward him until they’re almost face to face. Goose bumps erupt on Grantaire’s naked skin, and he instinctively moves towards the warmth of Enjolras’s body.

Unlike Grantaire, Enjolras is still fully clothed, but the air’s chilly, even through the fabric of his trousers and his blouse.

Grantaire shudders, and Enjolras fists his hand in his hair, pulling his head back harshly and making him look up. The movement’s fast and rough, and Grantaire’s eyes squeeze shut against the pain. He bites his tongue, swallows his cry. He’s trying so hard to be good.

Thin, red welts already cover the skin of his back all the way down to his thighs, reminding him of the beating he’s already taken, of the trust he places in Enjolras, and of how much he’s able to take for the man he loves.

Enjolras slaps him, hard, with the back of his hand, and Grantaire ignores the tears in his eyes in favour of meeting Enjolras’s steady gaze.

“Good boy,” Enjolras murmurs. The hand not currently tangled in Grantaire’s curls comes up to rest on the sub’s jaw. He runs the pad of his thumb over Grantaire’s lips.

“Ready?”

Grantaire nods. He’s looking up at Enjolras with wide, tear-filled eyes, but when Enjolras looks for a trace of hesitation or doubt, he’s relieved to find none. Still, when Enjolras places the tips of two fingers on Grantaire’s mouth and pushes past his lips, Grantaire seeks reassurance in Enjolras’s expression. He’s looking for something to ground him for what’s to come, and Enjolras just barely resists the urge to remove his fingers from Grantaire’s mouth and press a kiss to his lips.

Instead, he loosens his grip on the man’s hair just a little and meets his gaze, hoping Grantaire can see how incredibly proud he is of him. His fingers push down on the soft flesh of his sub’s tongue, slowly thrusting deeper, and Grantaire whimpers quietly, his eyes falling closed. Enjolras can hear him choke when he slides his fingers further down into his throat. The muscles struggle instinctively, clenching and swallowing around the intrusion, and Enjolras grips the boxer’s hair tighter so as not to let him pull away.

“You’re doing so good, boy” he says, “opening up for me so well…”

He tries to keep his voice firm as he feels Grantaire flutter around his fingertips, thick saliva pooling around them.

“Just relax. Let me in… There we go.” He spreads his fingers apart and rubs the root of Grantaire’s tongue. “Try to swallow for me, boy.”

A panicked look crosses the dark-haired man’s face and he looks up at Enjolras with big, glassy eyes. It’s a sign of vulnerability that shows just how far under he already is. He chokes, trying to oblige, and Enjolras gives him an encouraging nod. “Try again. It’s okay.”

Again, Grantaire’s muscles clench in vain around the blond’s fingers and his eyes search pleadingly for Enjolras’s.

“Take a breath,” Enjolras says, “Let me in.”

And with that he pushes hard against the softness of Grantaire’s walls.

The dark-haired man gags, a weak, broken sound blocking his throat, and Enjolras pulls out to watch his sub’s shoulders shake as Grantaire doubles over and heaves. His shoulders strain against the rope that binds his hands. Clear, thin liquid drips from his lips.

Enjolras grants him the time to draw a few steadying breaths before he pulls his head back again and opens his boy’s mouth with his thumb. His tongue quivers when it’s pushed down with two fingers, and Grantaire opens his mouth wider without hesitation, allowing Enjolras to watch the muscles in his throat flutter and relax with every one of his breaths.

It’s almost enough to make the blond abandon his plan and just fuck his sub’s mouth, but he restrains himself. It’s Grantaire’s fantasy after all, and not Enjolras’s place to change their plans. Even if the sight of Grantaire on his knees, choking on his fingers, has his cock twitching impatiently.

He remembers the first time this came up. How he had Grantaire on his hands and knees one night after the dark-haired man had a little too much to drink. Enjolras had fucked him, hard, and the brunet had groaned and buried his face in the mattress, pushing back to meet Enjolras’s every thrust. He’d been desperate and needy, until he’d suddenly clutched his stomach and turned his head to the side, his body shaking and clenching around Enjolras as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the bed.

Enjolras had pulled out immediately, shocked and worried about Grantaire’s health, only to find that Grantaire had come completely untouched, for the first time in their relationship.

It had taken him forever to convince Grantaire that it didn’t make him think any less of him. Then it had taken another eternity before the boxer was willing to talk about it, but Enjolras has never been one to give up easily. By the time they did finally address the elephant in the room, Enjolras had had enough time to get used to the idea that he didn’t mind giving it a try if it was something Grantaire wanted to explore a little more.

Which is how Enjolras has come to find himself in a situation that he honestly never thought he’d get himself into.

Not that he could actually say he minds now that they’re here.

Watching Grantaire tremble with the effort to hold still, to try and be good, and to let Enjolras in is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. He’s keening every time Enjolras adds pressure, letting out sobs of shaky breaths, and despite the discomfort, or maybe because of it, his cock is standing hard between his thighs, wet at the tip. His eyes are hazy under the veil of his lashes, but he fights the temptation to let them fall closed, not breaking eye-contact even once as Enjolras fucks his mouth with his fingers.

The blond pushes his fingers to the back of Grantaire’s throat again and curls them down, holding them there for several seconds before drawing them out and thrusting back in. Grantaire opens up without a fight, and the way he looks at him, all trusting and vulnerable and dedicated, goes straight to Enjolras cock. It’s that sense of unreserved devotion that always clouds his eyes whenever he looks at the blond. It had felt like an arrow to his chest when they first met. Because Grantaire looks at him like there’s nothing he wouldn’t let him do right now, and it still shocks Enjolras to see how readily Grantaire gives in and places his safety and health in his hands.

It’s heady and terrifying and exciting in a way that keeps overwhelming Enjolras every time he’s reminded of it.

He casts his sub a gentle smile and disentangles his hand from his hair, moving it down to cup the side of his neck. He can feel the muscles shift under his touch as Grantaire swallows and then chokes, the fingers in his throat moving deeper and curling downward until a hint of alarm taints the blue of his eyes. Enjolras nods encouragingly.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, “just let it happen. I’m here. I know you can do it.”

Tears fall from the corners of Grantaire’s eyes, leaving shiny trails on his cheeks, and Grantaire’s whimper is cut off when Enjolras pushes his fingers all the way to the back of his throat again, causing him to stagger forward with the force of his retches.

Warm saliva fills his mouth and coats Enjolras hand as Grantaire’s body’s resistance finally crumbles. Enjolras’s fingers push in once more, hitting his gag-reflex, and Grantaire’s throat suddenly convulses around the intrusion as he bends over and heaves around the digits in his mouth. Enjolras has barely pulled his fingers from between his lips when a wave of puke spills from the boxer’s mouth and splatters onto the floor between them, getting flecks of thin, light-yellow vomit on Enjolras’s trousers and shoes. The acrid smell of half-digested milkshakes spreads through their bedroom, and Enjolras can’t help but feel grateful for the large windows of their apartment. They’ll definitely have to air the room if they still want to sleep in it later. But the thought is pushed from his head when Grantaire inhales sharply and gags again, straining against the hand in his hair that keeps him from falling.

His back goes tense as another rush of vomit is forced from his mouth and his hands struggle violently against their bonds, instinctively trying to hold him steady as his body’s strength is giving out.

Enjolras’s eyes are fixed on Grantaire’s throat. He’s been hard for a while now, thinking about Grantaire’s lips wrapped around his dick instead of his fingers, and now that he hears Grantaire retch and sees him shake and convulse with every heave, he can’t help but wish he could feel the tight, slick muscles of Grantaire’s throat struggle around the head of his cock.

He bites his lip and watches as Grantaire closes his eyes to take a breath. He’s trembling under Enjolras’s touch, coughing weakly, before he eventually spits out what is left in his mouth.

“There you go,” Enjolras whispers, “you’re doing so well, love. My gorgeous boy... I’m proud of you.”

He grants Grantaire a moment to regain his bearings before he pulls his head back again, albeit gentler than before. Cold sweat is breaking on the sub’s forehead, his lips wet with saliva and vomit, and Enjolras leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth before he can convince himself otherwise.

It’s kind of gross, the taste of bile on his lips, but it’s not as bad as he expected.

He runs his hand through Grantaire’s hair and pulls away, giving his sub a brilliant, proud smile. This isn’t his kink as much as it’s Grantaire’s, but he can definitely deal with it if it means he gets to see Grantaire like this again.

“So perfect for me, boy. Knew you could do it.”

He sounds a little more breathless than he’d like to admit, but Grantaire doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still panting shakily, his mouth open and wet, but the look on his Dom’s face has his lips quirking up in an attempt at a smile. It’s dazed and loopy, like he’s just waking up from some kind of anaesthesia, and Enjolras has the sudden urge to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

Instead, he guides Grantaire to the side, making him shuffle on the bed a little, until he no longer runs the risk of accidentally stepping into the mess on the floor. Grantaire eagerly leans forward and pushes closer to Enjolras, a high-pitched whine falling from his lips when Enjolras holds him back.

He looks at Grantaire with an expectant gaze. “What is it, boy. What do you want?”

Grantaire whines pitifully, squirming under the blond’s grip.

“Words, love,” Enjolras reminds him.

“I-” He coughs a little, his throat obviously sore, and he swallows a few times before he tries again. “Sir, can I- Can I suck your cock, Sir? Please? I’ll be good, Sir.”

“You are good,” Enjolras agrees, stroking his thumb over Grantaire’s cheekbone. “But I’m not sure how good you can be after this… Your throat will be sore, love. Are you sure you want this?”

“I can be good, Sir, please, let me show you,” he leans forward again, trying to bend down, and drops of precum trickle from his cock when Enjolras makes him look up again. “You can fuck my throat, Sir, anything you want, just- Please use me, Sir.”

Enjolras reaches behind him to undo the ties around his wrists, then tangles his fingers in Grantaire’s hair.

“You can touch yourself with your left hand,” he grants. “I want you to keep your right hand on my hip. Push me away if you feel like you’re about to throw up.” He waits for the words to settle in before he continues. “You can come whenever you need to.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

 He lurches forward as soon as Enjolras has his jeans and boxers pushed down to his thighs, sealing his lips around the base of the blond’s cock. His breath feels hot on Enjolras’s skin as he licks his way up the side of his dick and places wet kisses along his length. Slowly, reverently, he laps at the liquid dribbling from the slit. His eyes flutter closed at the taste on his lips.

When his tongue circles the head of Enjolras’s cock, the blond throws his head back, a long, drawn-out moan escaping his lips.

“Fuck 'Taire.” His grip tightens in the older man’s hair.

Grantaire’s left hand curls around the shaft of his cock, moving in clumsy strokes as he opens his mouth to let Enjolras push inside. He relaxes his jaw, flattening his tongue against the underside of Enjolras’s length.

Steadily, Enjolras guides him gown until his lips are stretched around the girth of his base and his nose is pressed into the warm skin of Enjolras’s stomach. Enjolras holds him there for several seconds, listening to Grantaire’s strained breaths before he draws him away and thrusts back in with more force, setting a relentless, rough pace as he begins to fuck Grantaire’s throat. The incredible heat of Grantaire’s walls has his voice break off with a moan.

“S-so good, Grantaire. Such a fucking slut… Love your mouth.”

Grantaire splutters as he tries to cry out, his throat fluttering and swallowing uncontrollably. Saliva runs from the corner of his lips and coats his chin, dripping down and pooling on his thighs as Enjolras’s cock continues to slam into his mouth.

The slick lips dragging over the skin of his cock, the pressure of Grantaire’s throat clamping down, and the soft, pliant heat around his cock… Enjolras can’t help it. His hand pulls hard on the sub’s dark curls and forces him down as his hips twitch forward of their own accord.

Grantaire whines brokenly, then gags, and his hand clenches at Enjolras’s hip as if unsure whether to push him away. The movements of his left hand suddenly become desperate and frantic.

He opens his mouth wider, letting the tip of Enjoras’s dick slip into his throat one more time before he comes, muscles spasming and clenching tightly around the length in his mouth. Enjolras shudders as he feels himself getting closer, giving in to the sensations with a breathy groan.

Large tears fall from Grantaire’s eyes when his muscles cramp up, and he pushes Enjolras away just in time before another wave of puke floods his mouth. Helplessly, his hand clutches Enjolras’s waist as he falls forward and leans over the edge of the bed, body trembling as it expels what thick, milky bile is left in his stomach.

The strangled, slick sounds that fall from his lips are enough to bring Enjolras to the edge. It only takes a couple more strokes with his hand before he comes with a groan, white ropes of come adding to the mess on the floor.

It’ll be one hell of a task to clean everything up, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now.

Grantaire’s coughing weakly when Enjolras comes down from his high. He’s shivering now that his skin is cooling off, and cold sweat lines the sides of his face and his forehead. His hand has left it’s place on Enjolras’s waist to clasp his own.

Enjolras reaches for a blanket, even as he takes off his clothes, and he chucks them to the side before he pulls his boxers back on and wraps the blanket tightly around his lover’s shoulders. Grantaire smiles faintly. His eyes are glazed-over in a way that lets Enjolras know that his mind is still lost in subspace.

He gets on the bed beside him and gently puts an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Carefully, he helps him lie down on his side and takes his place behind him, needing to check on the boxer’s back but unsure if Grantaire’s stomach could handle it if he told him to lay on his front. He scoots closer to his sub in the hope that his body will provide a source of warmth, then pushes the blanket aside to assess the damage done to Grantaire’s skin.

Angry red lines mark the expanse of his back and the curve of his ass, and Grantaire can’t supress a whimper when Enjolras runs the pad of his finger along one of the welts. Enjolras winces in sympathy.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"...Sir?"

"It's okay, love, you don't have to call me 'Sir' anymore. You can, but you don’t have to."

He presses a kiss to Grantaire's spine, his lips brushing over a spot on his back where the cane crossed an earlier line and caused the skin to burst and bleed just a little. It looks painful, but the marks will heal soon enough.

Enjolras's hand comes to rest on his partner's waist.

"Tell me how you feel, love."

"Used, Sir." Grantaire hesitates, then shakes his head.

Enjolras frowns. "Is there something wrong?" he asks.

But Grantaire just keeps shaking his head, so Enjolras decides to change the tone of his voice.

"Grantaire. Tell me what's on your mind. Please."

The dark-haired man whimpers, seemingly considering the question for several seconds. He sounds close to tears when he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't- I..." he trails off, taking a shaky breath. "Was I good for you, Sir?"

And, honestly, Enjolras could punch himself for not realizing sooner.

"R..." he wraps his arm around the older man, bringing them closer together, "You did so well, love. So perfect. You were so good for me, opening up for my fingers and letting me fuck your throat... You've no idea how beautiful you looked."

He can see a blush rise on the side of Grantaire's face.

"Thanks, Sir."

Enjolras smiles.

“You’re very welcome, love.”

Enjolras feels some of the tension drain from Grantaire's body and he hums approvingly, feeling for the man's hand and interlacing his fingers with his.

“My good boy.”

He reaches for the bottle of water on the nightstand and uncaps it before helping Grantaire sit up.

“Here you go. I want you to try and drink a few sips, okay? Not more than you think you can keep down.”

Grantaire nods, holding the bottle with shaking hands. Enjolras helps him guide it to his lips and he swallows a couple of mouthfuls before pushing the bottle away.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says. “You’re doing great.”

Grantaire chuckles weakly and leans against Enjolras’s chest, resting his head on the younger man’s collarbone and letting Enjolras pull the blanket up around his shoulders again.

“Back with me already?” Enjolras asks.

The dark-haired man hums. “Getting there.”

Enjolras presses a kiss to the top of his head. They’re both holding on to the other’s warmth, and Enjolras listens contentedly as Grantaire’s breathing evens out and quiets down.

“Tell me when you’re back, okay, so we can go and get you cleaned up.”

Again, Grantaire chuckles, already sounding much more like his usual self than a few minutes ago.

“I don’t think I ever needed a shower so bad in my life,” he grins.

Enjolras snorts. “I’m pretty sure I’ve actually seen you in worse conditions on multiple occasions.”

“Hey!” Grantaire protests, pulling away to glare at the blond indignantly, but Enjolras merely raises his eyebrows.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I always tell you you’re wrong. Just on principle,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he’s relieved to hear Grantaire’s getting back in his headspace without any difficulty. He smiles when the boxer leans back into his arms with a sigh.

“You might be right about this one, though,” he admits, and Enjolras nods complacently.

It’s surprisingly easy to forget about the smell and the state of the room and to just hold Grantaire close. For a while, he almost feels comfortable with the idea of simply laying back and falling asleep with the weight of Grantaire’s head on his chest.

He runs his fingers through the mess of dark curls on Grantaire’s head, getting lost in the repetitive motion until Grantaire begins to nuzzle the side of his neck.

“We should head to the bathroom in, like, a couple of minutes or so…” he mutters, “I can kinda feel… _stuff_ … drying on my skin…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, making a face.

“Aftermath’s not all that sexy…” he grumbles, and Enjolras can’t really disagree. It’s probably not going to become a regular thing in their sex life. Still, he can’t find it in him to regret anything.

He grins at Grantaire, not really knowing why, and Grantaire takes a second to frown at him before he, too, breaks into a smile.

“Yeah, we should really get cleaned up,” Grantaire chuckles.

“We should.” Enjolras agrees.

“In a minute.”

“In a minute.”


End file.
